


For auld lang syne, my dear

by by_nina



Series: For auld lang syne, my dear [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Attraction, Auld Lang Syne, F/M, FMA Secret Santa, FMA Secret Santa 2020, Fluff, Folk Music, Holidays, New Year, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, Romance, Secret Crush, Traditions, Young Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/by_nina/pseuds/by_nina
Summary: He hums a few notes that Riza recognizes straightaway. She doesn’t interrupt him, however; she pauses, entranced by the surprisingly gentle timbre of his singing voice. Roy doesn’t seem to mind. He continues with a slow tempo, gentle like the sway of candlelight, softer and softer until he reaches the resolution of the first chorus.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: For auld lang syne, my dear [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065863
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: FMA Secret Santa 2020





	For auld lang syne, my dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegTheMighty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegTheMighty/gifts).



> Surprise, Meg! I hope you enjoy this as much as you do the holidays. 😊

There is something pleasant and comforting about mornings in winter that always awakens Riza just before the sun rises. It’s quiet, as the Hawkeye house is on any given day, anyway. But towards the end of the year, with their little village covered in a blanket of snow and their distant neighbors kept at home by the cold, the quiet is better justified, more peace than solitude.

Her routine on these mornings is simple. It begins with tea—lavender, which was her mother’s favorite and a type that Riza hasn’t had anyone to share with since her mother’s passing. While the sky is still dark, she lights a small fire in the living room, then curls up close by to read a book by the warm light. There she stays until sunrise, when it feels a little less cold, and then she retreats to the window in her room to watch the sky change color.

Today, Riza wakes up a little differently. She is on the living room couch with her book facedown on her chest, her tea cold and unfinished, and the small fire in the hearth reduced to dim embers. The light coming from the window tells her that she has slept through sunrise. But most tellingly, there is a second cup just inches from hers on the center table, a new fixture of the past couple of mornings or so, and it’s enough to clear her head and remind her of how she ended up falling asleep there.

The door opens. In comes Roy Mustang with a chilly gust of wind.

“Hey,” says Riza. Roy responds with a slight nod as he brushes powdery snow out of his hair and off his coat. “How’d it go? What did they say at the train station?”

Roy shrugs. “Just my luck. They’ve cleared out most of the snowfall in Geob Pass, but there’s been some damage to the tracks. If the weather doesn’t improve, it could take weeks for the trains to start operating normally again.”

He attempts to act casual, but Riza has known Roy for three years and by now she knows the cracks in his façade. His voice is far too even and cool, his walk more a trudge. He doesn’t make his usual easy small talk as he walks around the couch where she is and around the center table, finally settling on the spot by the hearth where she usually does her reading. His focus is entirely on the embers as he ignites a new fire out of them.

A few days ago, Roy was bound for an early morning train to Central, where he had planned to spend the year-end holidays with his family. He always took the same trip back home on the same day each year since he first came to study under Berthold Hawkeye, and this was to be the last. Riza knew about his plans even though he couldn’t speak openly about them. She knew long before the time even came for him to leave, which was why she became concerned when he returned to the Hawkeye house an hour past his departure time. The Amestris Express, he said, had indefinitely cancelled all travel between Central and the East due to a severe blizzard at the border, which buried a long stretch of track under several meters of snow.

Since then, Roy has gone into town early each day, hoping for word on when the trains might begin running again. Each day, he returned disappointed. This then became part of Riza’s early morning routine, partly because it was inevitable to come across each other in the living room, and partly because she felt sorry for him. She has since accommodated him with the friendly gesture of sharing tea with him before he left each day.

Riza continues watching Roy from the couch. He rubs his hands together over the fire he’s just made, and the sight is enough for her to feel its warmth too. It begins somewhere in the pit of her stomach, turns into a stirring feeling throughout the rest of her and a pink tinge in her cheeks. Then, she hears it as a voice in her head. Earnest, hopeful. How nice it is that Roy has remained here, it says, because she—

“I’m sorry,” Riza blurts out over the little voice. “I’m sorry,” she repeats slowly, more sincerely this time. She takes a few deep breaths until the color disappears from her face. “I know how much you were looking forward to this.”

“Thank you.” Roy leans against the table, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Breathes out a short sigh. “I was supposed to spend more time with my family. Not just for the year-end holidays, but after the new year, too. I owe them that.”

Riza hums in understanding. There’s no need to talk about why, and there is no good thing that could come out of talking about it when her father is sure to wake up soon. They have better things to talk about, anyway, that could perhaps cheer Roy up.

“So, how do you spend the holidays at home?”

Roy turns to properly face her. He taps his fingers against the center table, deep in thought. “It’s a little manic,” he finally says with a laugh. “Too many people coming in and out of the bar, and they make a lot more trouble than usual during the holidays. The moment the bar opens in the evening, we hardly get any peace and quiet. But in the morning, when it’s just us, it’s special. My sisters like to exchange gifts over breakfast—trinkets, clothes, pocketbooks—it probably starts a couple of weeks before the end of the year.”

“Does the bar ever close over the holidays?”

“Only on the first day of the new year, so we could get some proper rest. Business doesn’t slow down until then, you see. We even host a party of sorts on New Year’s Eve. Anyone who wants to come just…”

He trails off. The smile on his face is both fond and wistful.

“It’s a little different around here,” Riza says after a moment’s silence. “Well—it hasn’t been the same since we lost Mother. But it’s a lot quieter, from what you said about Central—”

“Trust me, it always is.”

Riza laughs. “We really only celebrate on the last day of the year. That’s when we exchange gifts or get together with our families for a special meal. But you feel it before then—everyone’s a little friendlier and more charitable. It’s like it’s in the air. People prepare food for their neighbors, they keep hot chocolate ready in their kitchens for any time there’s a visitor or anyone who might be passing by.”

She sighs, then adds, “The only living relatives I know of are on Mother’s side, but she hadn’t talked to them in years. It’s just Father and I here during the holidays. But not for everyone else in this town—their relatives come over to spend the end of the year with them.”

“I see.” The fire in the hearth has grown, but Roy is leaning in the opposite direction from it now, closer to Riza. “In Central, it seems like everyone wants to get away whenever they can. I guess that’s where they come from, the people who choose to spend their holidays elsewhere.” He chuckles. “And then there’s me. I come back instead of leaving. Well, what can I say? Whatever everyone else is like, Central’s still home.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Yeah, it is. We’ve got decorations all over the place, kids singing holiday carols…”

“Hey, we have those too!” Riza is smiling now, almost laughing. “I know it’s not that exciting out here, but you’ve been to town—you’ve seen the decorations. And the kids don’t go all the way to the outskirts, but they do go caroling.”

“And Central isn’t completely out of touch either,” Roy counters, grinning as if this were a competition to win. “There’s a traditional song you’ll hear around town for about a month—musicians perform it in the town square some nights, and then people sing it when the new year comes. Everyone knows it. It goes like this…”

He hums a few notes that Riza recognizes straightaway. She doesn’t interrupt him, however; she pauses, entranced by the surprisingly gentle timbre of his singing voice. Roy doesn’t seem to mind. He continues with a slow tempo, gentle like the sway of candlelight, softer and softer until he reaches the resolution of the first chorus. The last note is like a whisper, almost as if he means for her not to just hear it. Almost as if he were singing _to_ her.

Too close. She has come far too close to him.

Riza leans back and laughs—she hopes it comes off as amusement. “And here I thought you were just an alchemist.” Clearing her throat, she continues, “We play that song around here, too. In the plaza, on New Year’s Eve—everyone goes to welcome the new year there. But we don’t sing it.”

Roy turns up the corner of his mouth curiously. “What do you do, then?”

“We dance.”

* * *

On the last day of the year, at Cameron Station, Riza waits with Roy for a train that will take him home.

The last few days feel like little more than a dream.

Nothing much changed about the way she spent the holidays with Roy around. She began each morning before daybreak, with a cup of tea and a book like always. She spent most of each day keeping to herself, as did her father, who told Roy he had “nothing more to teach at the moment” and preferred the company of his books and journals; and as did Roy, who respected Berthold’s decision and instead devoted himself to perfecting the basic alchemy that he had already learned.

Only two things were different this time. The first was that Riza had someone to talk to, at least whenever she and Roy were together. This did happen rather often; there were quiet evenings in the kitchen after dinner, walks to town whenever one had to run an errand and the other reasoned that they needed fresh air, and mornings like the first few ones of Roy’s extended stay. On his part, Roy no longer began each day with a pointless trip to town and the disappointment of not hearing good news. He seemed to make peace with the fact that he would be missing much of the holidays with his family, especially after a phone call during which his aunt assured him that there was no trouble at all, so long as he did eventually come home.

The second thing that changed was something that Riza couldn’t easily name. It seems simplistic to say that she was glad for company, or that Roy’s presence was a mere antidote to boredom. Whatever it was, she could easily trace it to that one morning, in the color that filled her face, the contentment in listening to Roy sing.

She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach when they heard news of the Amestris Express running trains from the East to Central again, and she tries to ignore it now as she stands in the platform, counting the minutes until the train arrives and then—and then she would be alone again. No friend at the table for New Year’s Eve dinner, no companion for the celebrations in the plaza.

No Roy.

Cameron Station is packed with eager travelers whose trips had also been delayed by the poor weather. When the shrill train whistle fills the station, the crowd seems to move forward in a massive wave, a flurry of goodbyes and well-wishes and promises and plans for when they would meet again in the coming year. There are no such parting words between Riza and Roy. Neither can say when or if he will return at all, or if things will be the same if he does.

The traditional holiday song in the East, the same one he had hummed for her, is being played on a violin somewhere in the crowd. A street performer must have come specifically to send the travelers off. Curious choice of music, Riza thinks, but she cannot think of anything more apt. It is New Year’s Eve, after all. A time of farewell just as much as it is a time of new beginnings.

She turns, and she catches Roy staring at her cheek. He catches himself in the act a second too late.

“Well,” he says quickly, “thanks for seeing me off.”

Roy extends his hand to her. Riza hesitates before finally taking it. In the politest voice she can manage, she says, “You have a safe trip back, Mister Mustang.”

He blinks, then laughs a little. “Roy.”

“Roy.”

Their handshake is slow and steady. A moment passes, and then another, and even in the anticipation of _missing_ him Riza soon realizes that their hands might have already been clasped together for too long. Then—

A twist of the hand, a swift twirl, a breathless pause.

Riza takes a moment to steady herself. Mouth agape, she stares at Roy as if to await an explanation, but it doesn’t come. He takes a slow, cordial bow before letting go of her hand, and their little dance comes to an end.

“Happy New Year, Riza.”

She doesn’t find the words in time, and Roy follows the last of the departing crowd into the train, where Riza sees no more of him. There is no final glance over his shoulder, no fleeting glimpse through the windows. The music fades into the indistinguishable, dissonant voices of the crowd.

No matter, Riza thinks with a fond smile. She has those past few days with him to keep throughout the year, if not until he gets back—if not for each new year to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned, and stay safe always!


End file.
